Page 87 of Falling Princess
“Not great,” Cata said, grimly, twisting to check behind her. She threw the car into reverse. The camera came on. Raina and I watched as the man tried to get up. Cata backed over him. Raina made a distressed whimper. Cata put the car into drive and gunned it. The third time, we both groaned.
“This can’t be happening,” Raina wailed softly.
“Dead now, for sure,” Cata declared with grim satisfaction. “Let’s hope I can get into the camera system and delete the footage, if there is any. This place is riddled with the damn things.”
She drove cautiously for several minutes. I thought I might be sick. I clutched Raina’s hand for dear life.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
“We just killed a man! It’s not okay! There’s nothing okay about any of this!”
“Zosia. Get it together.” Cata’s commanding tone snapped me out of it. “You wanted to be included? This is what inclusion looks like.”
I nodded once. This is the kind of thing they’ve all been contending with for years without my ignorant input. My job is to shut up and listen.
We drove for a quarter-hour or so before pulling into a nondescript garage and down two levels. The bright light stabbed my eyes.
“Zosh. Raina. Switch coats.”
Meekly, I shoved mine across the seat. I still haven’t sat up properly, choosing to let my back cramp painfully over being visible out the rear window. Raina wiggled around until she got out of hers.
“Raina, leave your hair down. Go up that stairwell and turn left when you come out onto the street. We’ll meet you at the corner. You know what to do if anyone approaches.”
“I can handle myself.” Raina ducked out the car door and strode quickly to the exit.
“You, Zosh. Wear this over your hair.”
She handed back a pair of sunglasses and a scarf.
“Are you kidding? I’m not a film star from the forties—”
Cata twisted in her seat to glare at me. I shoved the glasses onto my face and hastily tied my hair into a fat bun, which I covered with the knotted scarf. I may complain, but I comply. She gave me a wry grin.
“Make yourself useful and get the bags. Act like we’re going on vacation. Casual.”
We got out, went to the boot of the car and made a fuss over taking out the luggage. It isn’t much—my silly wheeled suitcase, Cata’s duffel, my backpack. Raina took her shoulder bag with her. I stood where Cata indicated while she unscrewed the license plates and tossed them into the trunk. She attached a replacement plate to the rear holder. After that, we casually made our way to a different exit and took the stairs outside.
Raina awaited us at the corner. We walked right past her, pretending not to notice. Cata led us down the street, into an alley, out the other end, and into a building better suited to storing merchandise than housing people.
“What is this place?”
“Safe house.” Cata keyed open a thick metal door. Inside, she flicked on lights. “Lorcan is usually the only person who uses it. Came in handy tonight, though.”
The interior was industrial without the chic. Concrete floors, a makeshift kitchen with a microwave and a small refrigerator. Most of the space was taken up by a large mat and a dizzying array of blades. Long swords, short swords, knives—a training area.
“When does he have time to come here?” I asked, bewildered.
“After swim meets. When he was tailing you, this is where he slept at night.”
“Where did he get the—You know what? I don’t want to know.”
Cata smirked. “It’s amazing what you can get through customs on the pretext that your sword collection is an irreplaceable cultural artifact.” She threw the cushions off one of the two sofas set perpendicular to one another, facing a large flat-screen television and popped up a pull-out bed. “You and Raina can sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”
Raina went to the window and flicked the curtain back.
“Hey,” Cata snapped. “Those stay closed. We don’t want to alert anyone who might be watching.”
“This place is awful,” Raina grumbled. “How long do we have to be here?”
